Yesterday, while at the lab waiting to have blood drawn, I reflected a little bit on Christmas through the years. Random thoughts came to mind, in no particular order. I guess I actually started down this rabbit hole on the drive to the lab. While driving in standard early Monday traffic, I remembered Christmas from about 1973. I was in high school at the time and Dad asked me to deliver bottles of really good bourbon to all his friends. I drove all over Jonesboro, in my 1969 Datsun 510, dropping off bottles of bourbon at various homes.
Yep, the Datsun was the car that I had painted black with eight cans of black spray paint. It also sported a glasspack muffler on a wimpy four-cylinder engine. It had a really cheap eight-track tape player with crappy little speakers. I put that in myself and it showed. I drove all over town that foggy night delivering the bourbon wondering what would happen to me if I, being underage, got caught driving about a dry county with a case of bourbon.
From that memory, I transitioned to Ralph. It was always my job to go pick up Ralph. Ralph helped Mom fry quail for Christmas Eve dinner. He always wore a tux and he had hair that James Brown envied. Christmas Eve was always a tremendous feast. For just a second just now, I could smell quail cooking.
For the entirety of my life, Christmas Eve always brought Coachie and Miss Dot to Mom and Dad’s house. Coachie and Dad used to go quail hunting on Christmas Eve. That’s what we always had for dinner on Christmas Eve, fresh quail. At some point in the night, we’d hear the story of when Dad and Coachie went quail hunting in Dad’s MG Midget. They suffered a flat tire, but the car had no jack. Coachie picked up the back of the car while Dad changed the tire. Coachie was a hoss.
Thinking about Coachie and Miss Dot on Christmas Eve reminded me of how much Mom loved to decorate for the holidays. Mom had fourteen Christmas trees positioned all through her home. One was motion activated and would sing “Jingle Bells.” When he was a toddler, Catfish loved this. He would run back and forth in front to the tree to cause it to to sing again and again. It’s amazing how quickly one song can get really really irritating. One Christmas, Catfish was playing with a small nativity set on the table in the den. When it came time to put the decorations away, Mom couldn’t find the baby Jesus from the set. She looked everywhere. She didn’t find the baby Jesus until the next year. After setting up the nativity scene, she put out her same brass tea set. There, in the bottom of the tea kettle, was the baby Jesus. Mom loved to tell that story.
The singing Christmas tree brought to mind how Mom used to love to put music on the intercom. Mom was fairly deaf so she couldn’t hear much of the music, but she loved what she could hear. She had one ancient eight-track tape of Christmas music. She would pop that in the tape player built into the Nu-Tone intercom system. The music sprang forth from the tiny little intercom speakers in every room. The tinny music escaping from the speakers made for a nice Christmas atmosphere everywhere. Everyone enjoyed the music. Well, almost everyone. In the early 70s, we had a little dachshund named Rudolph. Each time ‘Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’ came around on the eight-track tape, the poor little dog would dash from room-to-room trying to figure out who was calling him.
Speaking of dogs reminded me of a dog Sweet Pea and Uncle Tony had. He was named Rocky. Rocky was a damn smart little poodle and was an enthusiastic player of fetch. One evening, The Goob was playing fetch with Rocky right by the fireplace. Mom had an old copper spittoon decorating the hearth. When playing fetch, Rocky was absolutely focused on the ball. When The Goob threw the ball, Rocky would sprint to the ball, grab it, and sprint back. Finally, The Goob,showed Rocky the ball. Holding the spittoon sideways, he tossed the ball in the spittoon. Rocky thrust his head in to get the ball, and the Goob loudly thumped the side of the spittoon causing Rocky to nearly beat his brains out against the sides of the spittoon as he withdrew his head from it.
Christmas when we lived in Memphis was memorable. I remember I got a kit to build an AM radio receiver. It was from Radio Shack, I believe. I spent about an hour putting it together. I remember turning it on and not hearing anything but static. The Goob suggested that we hang the antenna wire out of our bedroom window, and Voila! Suddenly George Kline was loud and clear. By next Christmas, we had moved to a new apartment. I remember I got a new football for Christmas. It was dark, stiff leather with white stripes. It was a “collegiate” football. My old ball was absolutely worn out from too many games played in the rain. The only place we had to play football was out in front of the apartment building on a lawn bounded by concrete or asphalt on every side. Each overthrown ball scratched and wore at my old football until the ball was nearly destroyed. I remember the laces had worn through and I replaced them with a white shoestring. I really needed a new ball. I thought that ball was the best gift ever.
Speaking of gifts, when I was a junior in high school I got a new cowboy hat. It was a nice, tan, felt Stetson. I also got a fantastic, heavy coat made of denim. It was lined with heavy white fleece. I’ve never been one for fancy cowboy boots. I’ve always like fairly plain boots. They were the most perfect pair of work cowboy boots I have ever had. Lastly, I got a nice, heavy-duty suitcase. Sweet Pea, on surveying the gifts I had received, looked at me, smiled and commented, “I think they are trying to tell you something.” We all got a good laugh out of that. It was a great Christmas.
Of course, no Christmas memory is complete without two matching, pink, drivable battery powered Barbie Corvettes. Just know that if you give pink Barbie Corvettes to your daughters for Christmas, one of them will take driving very seriously, and the other will be too busy talking on the built-in cell phone to be bothered by driving. You will walk around the block bent over to steer for her while she talks to her friends on the cell phone. This will do things to your back from which you will never recover, and you’d do it again in a heartbeat. Great memories.
In Jonesboro, in Atlanta, New Orleans and Pensacola, the Garner and Pardew families will gather tonight for Christmas Eve. There will be great food, laughter, beverages and lots of stories. We’ll remember the many Christmas Eves we have spent together. We’ll all talk about Coachie and Miss Dot. We’ll remember Ralph and the quail. We’ll all remember Guy and his antics. Much time will be spent remembering Nana and Daddy Doc. Best of all, we’ll be creating memories for our children and grandchildren to reflect on for years to come.
Merry Christmas!
PREVIOUS POST
Leave a Reply